Drowning from the inside out
by wellsbells
Summary: What if HG left and didn't come back because of something Myka did? What if Myka's upbringing was (like a lot of people's) steeped in homophobia? What if Myka couldn't accept that she'd fallen in love with Helena?
1. Chapter 1

_What if HG left and didn't come back because of something Myka did? What if Myka's upbringing was (like a lot of people's) steeped in homophobia? What if Myka couldn't accept that she'd fallen in love with Helena?_

 _This work is a gift for Beatricethecat over on AO3, since she gave me the idea._

* * *

"Hey, Dad," Myka said quietly, her browfurrowing as she picked up the call. Her Dad never called. It was always her mom, and always on Sundays. What could he be calling for?

"Nothing special, Myka. Just got some news that I thought you might want to hear."

Myka braced herself. This couldn't be good; with her Dad, it never was.

"Kurt Smoller is gay, now. He has a boyfriend and he's flaunting it about. Tried to come into the store. I told him we don't hold with that kind of thing here. I thought you might want to know that it wasn't your fault he didn't like you back. He's just one of those sickos," her Dad said, his distaste clear in his voice.

"Uh, wow. Thanks, Dad. That's really thoughtful of you, to tell me that," she said, chewing on a fingernail, her jaw tight.

"I knew you had your heart set on him, and I thought it might make you feel better to know that something was wrong with him, not you," her father continued, chuckling.

"That's great, Dad. You're sweet to think of me," Myka said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.

"No problem, honey," he said, sounding distracted suddenly. "I have to go, Myka. A customer just came in. Your mom will call you Sunday, okay?"

"Sure, Dad," Myka said, "you take care."

"Bye, Ophelia," he said, hanging up. Myka stared at the phone for a moment, then grabbed her clothes, dressing quickly. Helena was out cold, her face peaceful in sleep. Myka had never seen her look that free, unfettered, before. Myka stared at her for a long time, taking in every detail, every freckle. What they'd done last night… it was a mistake. Myka loved Helena, of course she did. But it was friendship, not… not whatever that had been, last night. It was a mistake. She wasn't gay, or bisexual, or whatever. She wasn't like Kurt, or that kid at her high school who'd hung himself after (ironically and unfortunately) being bullied by Kurt and the rest of the football team at school. She had been curious about Helena, after the "many of my lovers were men," business, and she'd talked to her about it a few times after a couple of scotches. There was that time when Helena had accidentally touched the back of her neck and Myka's breath had caught in her throat, an almost-gasp, and Helena had heard. She'd looked at Myka for a long moment, her eyes crinkled at the edge in amusement, but she said nothing. Myka had felt her dark gaze follow her that whole day. There was even a kiss, one night, in a club. They were drunk, it was a gay bar – they were searching for an artefact in a town and it was the only club open that late for a drink – and one of the dudes in the bar had dared them. That kiss – it was… mind-blowing. Myka felt, afterwards, like she'd been given a glimpse, a brief look, at how beautiful her future could be. But she'd put it to one side almost immediately, drawing away from Helena and plastering a drunk smile onto her face. Helena had looked at her closely for a moment, with the hint of a smile on her face, before murmuring something about, "When you're ready, Agent Bering." Myka had tried to put it out of her mind - it was just a kiss. (She _definitely_ hadn't thought about it every night since. It was just a kiss. Just messing around. Helena's tongue had tasted of slightly sour gin and crisp tonic, and Myka hadn't been able to drink either since without thinking about that kiss, with longing and regret.) But what they'd done together last night – that wasn't okay. Yeah, Helena clearly knew what she was doing; Myka couldn't deny that. It had been a hell of an experience. But it was just a response to physical stimuli, right? It didn't mean anything. She couldn't go home at Thanksgiving and tell her Dad that she was seeing a woman. She just couldn't. She couldn't stand to see that look on his face, and she also had no desire to be slapped in the face again, like he'd done when she told him she was joining the Secret Service. He'd wanted her to take over the store, or failing that, become a lawyer or a doctor. She'd already disappointed him so many times; she couldn't do it again.

She weighed up her options. This was Helena's room. She could leave Helena a note; head back to Colorado for a few weeks. Or forever. Forever was looking pretty good, right now.

Or she could do the decent thing and apologise for her mistake. Helena had said, last night, that she was in love with Myka. Myka knew that she should apologise for sleeping with Helena and just tell her that it was a mistake. That would be the decent thing, right?

But if she did that, there was no chance, was there? No chance of them staying friends. She'd probably never see Helena again. And that felt unacceptable. Because she loved Helena. As a friend.

Or she could just go along with it, for a bit. Pretend to let it fizzle out, that she wanted to stay friends instead. That felt like a nicer way to do it. Maybe she'd have to sleep with Helena again, but she could do that, couldn't she? She could handle it; it was just a physical thing. It didn't make her gay. She ignored the way her skin tingled as she remembered Helena's touch, Helena's kisses. The way she sounded when she…

Myka headed that train of thought off quickly, taking a deep breath. She went downstairs, leaving Helena asleep, practically walking straight into the door in her haste to leave the room and to resist going back to that bed. She thought she might be able to think more clearly if she had coffee, and if Helena wasn't right there. She went downstairs, she saw Leena, who frowned in puzzlement at whatever she was seeing in Myka's aura. Leena handed over a cup of coffee without saying anything, and Myka picked up a croissant without noticing that it was full of chocolate and went to sit on the porch to think. About twenty minutes later, she was still thinking and trying to make sense of everything, trying to decide on a way forward, when she heard Claudia shouting.

"Can you believe they did that? Who the hell do they think they are?" Claudia's voice was loud and upset. Myka turned to see what was happening. Claudia was shouting in the direction of the doorway and Pete was comforting her.

"No, I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head. His expression was dark.

"What's going on, guys?" Myka asked, puzzled.

"They took HG," Claudia sputtered. "They took her and they didn't even let her say goodbye. It was that asshole Kosan again. Artie told them to trust him, that HG was trustworthy. Why couldn't they just let her stay here, with her family?"

She began to cry, and Pete patted her on the back helplessly. Myka's stomach was twisting. She was… she didn't know what she was. Equal parts angry and relieved. Relieved that she wasn't going to have to have a conversation with Helena about last night, but furious, too. Helena had proven herself. She was ready to die, she told Pete to destroy the Janus coin. And if Marcus and Steve hadn't found them, that's exactly what would have happened. Helena would have died for the good of the Warehouse, and that was a hell of a turnaround from wanting to destroy the whole world. She had earned her freedom. She had redeemed herself.

Myka sat down at the table, feeling suddenly lost and empty. She had missed Helena so much, this last year. Even after she'd betrayed them, even after Yellowstone, Myka had still missed her. But she couldn't be with a woman. Her family would never accept it, and she had no idea whether her family here at the Warehouse would accept it. She couldn't do it - no matter how good things had felt between them. No matter how much she loved Helena. As a friend.

She took a deep breath, and suddenly Leena was sitting next to her.

"Are you okay, Myka?" she asked, looking into Myka's eyes intently.

"Yeah," Myka said, wearily. "I just don't think I was expecting them to take her away again," she said, putting her head in her hands.

"I know," Leena said. "It's not okay. I'll speak to Mrs Frederic and see what can be done. I know Mr Kosan is the Head of the Regents, but he can't do this. Helena has proven she can be trusted."

Leena wandered off after squeezing Myka's shoulder reassuringly. Claudia's sobs had quieted and Pete had guided her to a chair, holding her to his chest and talking to her in a reassuring murmur.

Myka went back to her room after a while, taking a shower and lying on her bed, glad that it didn't smell like Helena. She didn't know if she could have coped with that, right then. She didn't know what she was going to do about all of this. She knew what needed to be done, she just didn't want to do it. And she didn't know how she was going to get a message to Helena in the first place.

"Agent Bering," Mrs Frederic intoned. She was inside the room and the door was closed. Myka wondered idly, once her heart had slowed down, if the woman was some sort of ninja or if she was actually teleporting somehow.

"Mrs Frederic," Myka acknowledged, nodding her head.

"I have spoken to the Regents concerning Agent Wells. With my support and Artie's it is likely that she will be reinstated soon. In the meantime, would you like me to give her a message?"

Myka stared at her mutely, before nodding her head.

"Could you… could I have a minute, Mrs Frederic, to write a note?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course. I will be downstairs with Leena when you're ready," Mrs Frederic said, unperturbed as ever. Myka looked away for a moment, and when she looked back, Mrs F was gone.

The note took an age. She started it with "I'm sorry," she even wrote "It's not you, it's me." She tore both attempts to pieces before deciding to go with the simplest explanation.

 _Helena_

 _I'm writing this wondering where you are, again. The Regents took you away when I was having breakfast and they didn't give me a chance to see you. I would have told you this face to face if I could. I'm sorry._

 _What happened between us was a mistake. I think I mistook my love for you, my friend, as something else. With everything that happened, losing Steve, almost losing the Warehouse, I was confused. I'm not gay, Helena. I'm not even bisexual. I am sorry I let those things happen between us. I want us to be friends – I don't want to lose you. But that can never happen again. I am sorry to say something that I know will hurt you. When you're ready to talk, I'm here._

 _You will never lose this friend._

 _Myka_

She sealed it up and went downstairs, finding Mrs Frederic and Leena in deep conversation. She apologised for interrupting and handed the letter to Mrs F, who peered at her through those cats-eye glasses for a long moment.

"Are you sure about this, Agent Bering?" she asked, finally.

"What do you mean, ma'am?" Myka asked uncertainly.

"I believe that Agent Wells' earlier words to you are pertinent here, Agent Bering. Don't walk away from your truth. That is what I mean," she said, her eyes on Myka's.

"I'm sure," Myka said, a lump rising in her throat. She was doing the right thing. She didn't want to lead Helena on any more.

"Very well," Mrs Frederic said, tucking the letter into her jacket before turning her back on Myka in a dismissive gesture. Myka stood there uncertainly for a long moment before turning and slinking back to her room. She was doing the right thing. Helena was not for her, and she was not for Helena. They would both meet the right person down the line, and they would be friends again.

Helena never came back. Myka didn't ask why, and she could tell from Claudia's and Pete's puzzled gazes whenever the subject came up that they didn't understand why. She mentioned HG once to Steve, (who had been brought back from the dead by an artefact) but talking to him about it was involuntary. She didn't know if it was because he was gay that the words popped out, but in any case, she talked to him. She said she missed Helena, and she didn't know where she was. He just looked at her, taking a swallow of his beer before speaking carefully.

"She seems nice. Helena, I mean. I didn't get to see her, much, what with dying and all, but everything I hear about her – she seems like a really good person, since she's reformed. She cares a lot, about you."

"Yeah, we're good friends," Myka said, taking a sip of her beer. Steve choked on his, and coughed for a moment.

"Yeah. Friends," he said, and Myka coloured at the slight hint of mockery in his voice. They didn't speak any more that night.

When Helena called, Myka wasn't ready to hear her voice. The way her mouth formed words, made them beautiful. The way she said Myka's name. It was… Myka had missed her friend. That was all.

When they arrived in Wisconsin Pete kept giving Myka sidelong looks as they drove along in the huge SUV that he'd insisted on renting. She eventually got sick of it and snapped at him. He looked hurt, and stopped doing it, but she could still feel the tension as he held back whatever he wanted to say, so she told him to spit it out.

"Spit what out?" he asked, clearly protesting his innocence.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she asked, as she checked the road signs carefully to make sure they were on the right road for the police station.

"I just… we've been wondering, what happened with you and HG, when she came back that one night."

"Who is we?" she asked quietly.

"Claudia, me, and Steve. Even Artie asked me about it, one time."

"What do you think happened?" she asked, her heart sinking into her stomach.

"Come on, Myka. The walls are thin. We know that you… we know what happened. I'm not trying to embarrass you, partner. I just… you haven't seemed yourself, since, and we all thought Helena was coming back and I think we assumed you guys would be, you know, a "thing"." He did the quotation marks with his fingers and nearly ran them off the road because he let go of the steering wheel. She shouted at him and thumped him on the arm. After rubbing his arm and giving her a reproachful look, he continued.

"Anyway, then she didn't come back. And you've been… well, you really haven't been yourself since, Mykes. So what's the deal?"

She shrugged uncomfortably, her cheeks burning.

"It was a mistake, Pete. I told her that – I had to send a letter, because the Regents took her before we could talk. And that's all. I haven't heard from her since."

He looked at her in confusion for a long moment.

"Look, I don't mean to butt in, or anything. It's your life and all. But it didn't seem like a mistake, Myka. I've never seen you look at anyone that way. And the way she looked at you – it was love, Myka. And I saw what happened in the other timeline. She died for you. Not for the Warehouse – for you. Why wouldn't you want that?"

"It's not that, Pete. I want – I love her, as a friend. But what happened that night – it was two friends making a mistake. I'm not gay, and I… I hurt her, I know. She told me she loved me, that night. But I can't love her, Pete. Not like that."

"Can't love her?" he repeated, his eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement.

" _Don't_ love her," she amended, but even to her, it sounded weak. She swore under her breath as she saw the turn for the sheriff's office coming up, and she pointed it out at the last second, Pete just making the turn with the cars behind honking their horns angrily at them.

 _"Ophelia," her Dad said, smiling at her. It looked… wrong, on his face. She accepted a hug and smiled at him uncertainly._

 _"Come in, have something to eat," he said, and she did, feeling like the odd one out as usual in her home. Tracy was still quiet after the whole incident with the artefact and trying to kill Myka. She hadn't quite bought Myka's explanation, but she came along to the bookstore anyway. Jean was fussing over her, and Myka's father was reading the newspaper._

 _Three separate times he brought up Kurt Smoller, laughing about Myka's crush on him, and saying she must feel good that it was the Smoller boy who was sick, that there was nothing wrong with her. If he'd been normal, a real man, he would have liked her too. There was a report in the paper of a country singer who'd come out recently, and he commented on that, too. "Poor woman needs to meet a real man," he said dismissively. "That'll cure her."_

 _It was like the gods were telling her over and over again what to expect if she stepped out of line, if she let herself feel anything for Helena again. So she steeled herself, she switched it off, she trained her mind. Mind over matter. She wasn't gay; she wouldn't be. She wasn't bisexual, or pansexual, or whatever the fashion was now. She was straight, and she would marry a guy, and be pregnant like she was that one time with Pete's imaginary baby. She would have kids like Tracy and she would settle down and be normal, and she'd fit in here finally. Her Dad would keep smiling at her that way and she wouldn't feel like the odd one out anymore._

The first sight of Helena was like… like when the sky clears after a thunderstorm. She looked at Myka, and the hurt was clear in those eyes, the closed off expression, the way she spoke. She didn't want anything to do with retrieving this artefact, or with Myka, clearly. Myka accepted it all. After all, this was what she had wanted. Just to be friends.

Myka's bright idea to look up Helena's home address didn't look so bright when the kid came to the door behind Helena, and then the boyfriend, too. Nate. He seemed nice, in an ordinary sort of way. Myka tried to accept it the way she'd accepted Helena's lack of interest in the artefact, tried to take the blows as they came, because she deserved this. She was the one who had allowed herself to sleep with Helena. She was the one who had screwed up their friendship. Helena's words piled up, each one a blow. Nate was exceptional. (Yeah, right. Steve would have laughed out loud at that lie.) Helena belonged there, she and the Warehouse didn't mix. Lives were ruined. Myka couldn't disagree there. Helena coming to the Warehouse had ruined her, one way or another. She took a deep breath, and she tried not to say the things that were bubbling up, tried not to let jealousy gnaw at her ribs and claw its way into her stomach like a parasite, but she couldn't help it. She told Helena she was chasing Christina's ghost, that she wasn't herself. Helena glared at her, and Myka took a deep breath. Helena was right. This was what she wanted, right? She wanted to be friends. Jealousy had no place in a friendship, and Nate was a good man, just the kind of man to give Helena the kind of life she apparently wanted. Boring, safe. She took it all, she swallowed it up, let it drown her from the inside out. This was what she wanted, she reminded herself.

After all of the mayhem with the artefact, with the kid and the detective, they said goodbye, and while Myka knew it all looked pleasant enough from the outside, she saw the pain and a hint of malice in Helena's eyes when she said, "you will never lose this friend." It was what Myka had written at the bottom of her letter, the letter that had imploded them forever.

Walking away, getting in the car, waving goodbye – it was the hardest thing Myka had ever done. She missed Helena so badly, and she knew it was her fault. She knew that it was her who'd let everything change, and then let it blow up. One night of weakness, one night where she'd let herself lose control. And now she'd ruined everything between them. They might never be friends again. And she needed Helena in her life; she wanted to see that smile, those eyes. Those lips. But she had to choose, and she couldn't be what Helena wanted her to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Myka gets together with Pete, and she sees Helena again. Angst abounds.

* * *

 _"Turn your books to page eleven," Mr Anderton said. "Now we will be looking at the subject of the Crusades and how the Bible informs our way of life."_

 _It was the second time Myka had sat through this particular lecture from the rabidly anti-gay teacher. He was supposed to be teaching them about history. He had turned a part of the syllabus that dealt with the Crusades into yet another lecture on homosexuality. He was more interested in sin. Specifically, everyone else's sins. He revelled in it; in pointing it out, in judging it. Myka turned her book to the specified page with an internal groan and listened, once again, to why homosexuals were sick, to why they were going to hell. The kids in the class – the boys, primarily – were joining in, saying that gay people needed to be put away in a hospital where they couldn't bother "normal" people, that it was disgusting that they were just allowed to walk around like they were as good as regular people. Myka tried to close her ears to it, but she heard every word. Her perfect memory was a perfect curse, sometimes._

 _When she developed a crush on Kurt Smoller not long after she hit puberty, she couldn't have been happier. She had been pretty sure for a while there that she liked girls, because of course it would be her who would be gay, who would be "other" in yet another way. She was so relieved when she realised how she felt about Kurt that she cried herself to sleep that night; tears of relief._

 _It was only years later, when she realised that she didn't believe in a God who would let people suffer arbitrarily, a God who judged and hated and separated people into worthy and unworthy, wheat and chaff, that she thought again about how some women made her feel… different. They would catch her eye in a way that she couldn't understand, exactly. Sometimes it was the way their muscles moved under their skin or the way their eyes glinted in the light. And she felt something pull, low in her belly, like a muscle that was rarely flexed and was both painful and delicious somehow. But it was ingrained in her, now. Homosexuals were sick. Bisexuals didn't exist; they were just waiting for the right man, the man who presumably had a magic penis that would fix all that ailed you, or the right woman with a vajazzle wonderful enough to turn the guy back into a manly man who liked boobs and beer and football._

 _She was a Secret Service agent, she was an adult, she was supposed to be a grown up. She was supposed to have it together. But when she fell for Sam, she felt the same relief she'd felt all those years ago with Kurt. She could be normal. She could fit in. When he died, she grieved both for the man and for the life they could have had together – the normal life she wanted so badly._

* * *

A few months later, she'd put Helena to the back of her mind. She had seen a few hints, from time to time, that Pete might be interested in her. She'd been thinking about it, a lot, actually. It was perfect, really. He was her friend already, he knew her. He was attractive, and he was a good man. He wanted to have kids, and she wanted to be normal, to fit in. As much as a Warehouse agent could be normal, that is. For some reason, when Helena texted her new address and said she was living in Washington with her new girlfriend, it made it all a lot easier. She could be with Pete, and everything would be perfect.

They were sitting at the round table in preparation for the Warehouse moving and they were watching Myka's ridiculous takedown of that group of ninja cat burglars. The table was a bit like the sorting hat in Harry Potter – she'd felt it whisper through her memories, and when it grasped and started to pull out Tamalpais, the grappler, Myka said firmly, in her head, "No. I need something with Pete." The whispering started again and she let it take this one out, display it for everyone to see. She smiled when Steve said she was in love with Pete, and she put her head down, hiding her face, when she said, "Oh my God, I'm in love with Pete."

She'd discovered quite by accident that Steve couldn't read her when he couldn't see her face. So he thought she was in love with Pete. Mrs Frederic thought she was in love with Pete. Now she just had to get Pete to believe it.

She wasn't a bad person. She told herself that when she kissed him. She just wanted a normal life. She wanted her Dad to be proud of her. She wanted her family to love her. And Pete really loved her; she could see that much in his eyes. Was it a bad thing, to let him have that happiness? She didn't think so. They fell into a happy routine and they were talking about marriage and kids after a month. The sex part wasn't terrible. It felt strange because their relationship had been more like siblings up until then, but she played her part and she did what she had to do. Maybe she'd get pregnant soon; that would prove to her parents, to Tracy, to everyone, that she was normal.

When Helena texted her out of the blue a few months later, asking to meet, she was confused but happy. She figured that Helena wanted to stay friends, and that was what she wanted, too. Helena told her to drop by her hotel room in Featherhead and they'd go to a coffee place nearby. What Myka didn't expect was to find herself pushed up against the door of Helena's hotel room, Helena's hand on her throat, in the exact opposite position to the one she'd occupied in Tamalpais all those years ago.

"You don't love Pete Lattimer, Myka. You're using him to hide from who you are, and you're ruining yourself and me to do it," Helena hissed, her face not even an inch from Myka's.

"What are you talking about?" Myka choked out. Helena wasn't exactly pushing hard, but she had her hand around Myka's throat, and she was pressing a little against her vocal cords.

"Giselle broke up with me a week ago, because I'm still in love with you, Myka. I tried to love her, just like I tried to love Nate, and I couldn't, because you ruined me, Myka."

She let go of Myka and sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, her back to the wall. Her shoulders were shaking, and at first Myka thought she was crying, but it was laughter.

"Listen to me. What the hell am I even doing? You're too much of a coward even to face me with your bloody lies, never mind to tell Pete that you don't love him. I don't know why I'm even wasting my time, for fuck's sake," she said, biting off the last words savagely. "You don't deserve it."

She was right. Myka didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry, Helena," she began, but her voice just spurred Helena into an even greater rage.

"Fuck you, Myka," she said, standing up again, pushing Myka against the door again. She was magnificent; savage and bitter and so, so incredibly beautiful. Myka's breath was coming in great heaves as she tried to resist what she wanted to do.

"You're standing there, and I know you want me. I know you love me. And I know that as soon as I let you go you're going to run away, and you're going to go back to your wonderful life with Pete and you're talking about _marriage_ now, Claudia tells me? You'll get married to someone who you don't love, like the coward that you are, and you'll probably convince yourself that this was all me, that I was some sort of predatory evil older woman, a pervert leading you astray. But I know you love me, Myka. I know you want me." She searched Myka's eyes, and Myka looked away, looked down – looked anywhere but at Helena.

"You're a fucking coward, Myka Bering," Helena spat, and Myka flinched. "For a long time I felt like you were too good for me, like you deserved better than me. But now I think it's the other way round. Because I deserve someone who at least acknowledges that they love me, that won't lie because they're scared of what other people think. Someone who has self-respect enough to stand up for themselves, at least. I deserve better," she said, and her eyes had dropped to Myka's lips, and Myka was still trying to look away, but her eyes were magnetically attracted to Helena's, and she was falling, falling into those eyes…

"…so why can't I stop thinking about you?" Helena whispered, her eyes filling. "Why are you all I think about, Myka? Clearly you're not good for me; you don't even care about me enough to tell me face to face that you don't want me. You slept with me, Myka. You made love to me and I thought… I've never felt like that before. I've never felt so loved. Why are you lying to me? Why are you lying to yourself?"

Myka wasn't sure who started it. She would like to say it was Helena, but she couldn't be certain of it. Either way, she didn't stop it. She didn't stop them from doing it again, from making love to one another. She was honest enough, at least for the half hour or so after she woke up with Helena wrapped around her, to admit that was what it was. She made love to Helena, and Helena made love to her, and she told Helena that she loved her. That she was _in_ love with her. But afterwards, afterwards… she chickened out, again. She saw her Dad's face when he talked about Kurt Smoller, about anyone who was gay or bisexual or really _other_ in any way at all, and she knew that he'd never accept her. That her mother would turn her back, that Tracy would look at her with disgust in her eyes. She would be alone in the world, and Pete would be heartbroken.

This time, she stayed, at least, until Helena woke up. And Helena knew, when she opened her eyes and looked at Myka's face. She knew, and she sat up, looked at Myka sitting next to her in bed, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"You're going back, to Pete. To your lies and your cowardice."

Myka couldn't look at her. She just nodded. Helena sighed, and Myka didn't need to look to know she was crying.

"You know, I told you once - don't walk away from your truth. At the time, I meant the Warehouse, but now I mean this. I mean us. You love me and I love you. And you can deny that if you want, but I know that this means something to you. That I mean something to you."

Myka didn't look at her; she kept her head down. She knew that Helena was right; that was the worst thing. She knew that Helena was right and that she was a coward. She was in love with Helena, and that hadn't changed just because she'd tried to be with Pete.

"I want you to go, Myka. I am going to give you a month. It's more for me, really, than for you. Because I'm too weak to give up on you. Because I need you. You can't just discard me because I don't fit the image of who you thought you'd love. I love you, and I am going to give you a month. Come here, to this hotel, to this room, in a month. If you've come to your senses. If you haven't, then I never want to see you again, Myka. Now get out."

She got up and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Myka got up, gathered her clothes and dressed, and left the room quietly, hoping that she would manage to get back to the B&B in time to shower before Pete got home.

She was, and when he got into bed with her that night, she smiled and played her part. And the whole time she thought about Helena, about how being with her felt so different, so natural, and how this felt… wrong. She waited until Pete's breathing had evened out and then she cried herself to sleep, silent tears soaking into her pillow.

The month was nearly up. She was standing on the viewing platform looking out over the Warehouse, and she was trying to convince herself that staying with Pete was for the best. She let herself think, for a moment, of what it would be like if Helena were with her instead of Pete. If she let herself be happy, instead of fitting in to what her family wanted from her.

"Is this really what you want, Myka?" Artie asked, his voice gentle. She turned her head. He had crept up on her while she was lost in thought.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I know you don't love Pete, Myka. Everyone knows. I think even Pete knows," Artie said, and he wasn't saying it judgementally or in a nasty way. He was just stating facts.

"I do love him," she said stubbornly.

"You're not in love with him, then," Artie amended. "And you _are_ in love with her."

How the hell did Artie know about that? How did he find anything out? He was always so preoccupied with his own business, with Warehouse business.

Artie carried on talking.

"I've seen Agent Wells several times over the last few months, Myka. We're actually friends, now, of a sort. She helped me by getting the Astrolabe away, and after Claudia saved me, she came back a few times when you weren't here, just to talk to me. Because she knew what it was like, to be under the influence of madness, to hurt people that you love. She came back just to comfort me, Myka. That's the kind of woman she is. She probably always was, but the things that happened to her… they changed her."

Myka drew in a deep breath. Tears were already falling down her face; she didn't need to tell Artie that he was right. It was written all over her face.

"She loves you, and you love her, and you are denying all of that so that you don't have to be different. So that you don't have to be yourself, and deal with your parents' disapproval or rejection? I've always been so proud of you, Myka. For everything you've accomplished here at the Warehouse, for the woman you've become, for being able to stand up and carry on after losing Sam. But now I don't know what to think. I don't say this sort of thing often, Myka, and not about people like Helena, usually. You are well aware that I did not care for her at all at the beginning. But people like her do not come around very often. If you waste this opportunity, you may never get a chance like it again."

"It's… it's too hard, Artie. My Dad – you know that morning, after she stayed the night – after the Warehouse nearly blew up – he called, and he told me that someone I used to know was gay. He was laughing, and he told me it wasn't my fault that the guy didn't like me, it was him who was sick. Sick, Artie. That's what he called him, just because he's gay. Can you imagine what he would say if he knew about me? Knew what I really am?"

"I can imagine perfectly well what he would say, Myka. And I am not saying that it will be easy for you to deal with. Of course it won't. But the alternative is to deny who you are. And the Myka Bering I hired would not do that. The Myka Bering I admire would not do that. And the Myka Bering I love would not lie to her best friend and hurt him the way you are doing with Pete," he said, finally. He patted her on the shoulder awkwardly and went back into the office. She stood there for another half hour, looking out at her home, wondering what the hell she was going to do.

Claudia was less subtle. They were doing inventory and Myka was sucking on the end of her pen, lost in thought. Her mind was racing; Artie had started her thinking about Helena, about what they could have, and it was painfully enticing, the mental image of waking up with Helena.

"Myka. MYKA!"

"What?" Myka said, startled, noticing that Claudia was right in her face. "What's the matter?"

"I just asked you three times what you were thinking of. I think I need, like, three pennies now. How much is that in English money?"

"It's three pence," Myka said absently. Claudia glared at her.

"That was a rhetorical question, Myka," she said, snappily.

"What's wrong, Claudia?" Myka asked, confused.

"You're hurting her, Myka," Claudia said bluntly, holding her clipboard to her chest. "She would have stayed, you know. If you hadn't done what you did. I miss her, Myka. I wanted her to come home, and she didn't, and it's all because you're a coward."

"Claudia, you don't know what you're talking about," Myka began, ready to give Claudia the full works – the speech about how there were things she wasn't old enough to understand, how sometimes people loved each other but they couldn't be together – all of that good stuff. Claudia cut her off, however, with a glare that was so hot that it could have melted metal.

"Don't give me that crap, Myka. I might be younger than you but I'm not stupid. Helena belongs here, at the Warehouse, and you love her. You're not in love with Pete, and to be honest, what you're doing to him is just – it's fucking unbelievable. I've always looked up to you, Myka. You've been a role model for me for a long time. But now? I'm so pissed at you I can barely speak. What you're doing – it's wrong, Myka, and you know it. If you don't want to be with Helena because you don't love her, that's one thing. But you do, and you know it. You're afraid to be with her because of your parents and your upbringing and all that crap, and I get that, I do. It's horrible growing up where you're so different from everyone around you. I know that better than anyone. But you know what, Myka? You grow up, and you realise that you're an adult who is only responsible for one person's happiness – your own. You can't live your life to suit other people, Myka. If I've figured that out already, why haven't you? What are you so afraid of? Losing your family? You think you can keep them by pretending to be something you're not? I thought you were better than that, Myka. What you're doing – you're not just breaking your own heart. You're going to break Pete's, and Helena's, and you'll destroy the only family I've ever had in the process. Is that really what you want?"

Claudia was out of breath by the end of her speech, but she was still glaring at Myka as if Myka had betrayed her. Which she kind of had, she thought. She hadn't considered Claudia's feelings. She knew what she was doing to Pete, but she had hoped that by making him happy, even if it was by lying to him, she was making up for that wrong. Apparently Claudia didn't agree.

"Claudia, I'm sorry," Myka began, but Claudia just snapped, "Save it, Myka," and stomped off, the sound of her boots echoing around the aisles of the deserted Warehouse that, right then, did not feel like home, to Myka. If she'd been the mystical type, she would have said that she could feel… disapproval, emanating from the shelves around her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Final part of this little angst-fest. Thank you all for reading, and to beatricethecat2, for giving me the idea :)_

* * *

Three days later it was time to decide. And she still hadn't. She couldn't. She was paralysed with fear, with indecision – with cowardice. She was sitting in her room looking out the window, thinking back to when this had all started – when Helena had swept her off her feet with the grappler. The way Helena had _looked_ at her. She'd known then, right away. Known that Helena was not straight, known that there was an attraction between them. She had known, and she should have run, right then, right that moment. Because then she wouldn't have fallen in love with the wrong person.

She didn't hate Helena. She didn't think Helena was sick. She remembered the "many of my lovers were men," thing, just before Egypt. She had smiled to herself that day, she remembered, because Helena was nothing if not dramatic. But she didn't hate Helena for being bisexual or however she might identify herself. She didn't hate Helena; she didn't judge her. She didn't think Steve was disgusting for sleeping with that other agent, Liam something. She didn't think anyone else was wrong or bad for falling in love with someone of the same sex. If anything, she was envious of those who did, of the luminous joy she saw in them from just being their true selves. It was only herself she judged harshly; only herself that she blamed for not being able to control herself enough to stay away from Helena. Probably thanks to her dad, she figured, who had drummed into her head before she could even speak that she was a disappointment, that she wasn't wanted, that she was all _wrong._ Why couldn't she get it out of her, this disgust, this hatred of who she was, how she felt? Why couldn't she have the courage to stand up and say that she loved Helena? Why couldn't she be as brave as everyone else was? She shrank back into herself at the thought, at the idea of her father's face if she told him that she was in love with a woman. She was thinking that maybe she could get through this, could get by this if she just gritted her teeth and ignored Helena's deadline, when Pete knocked on her door and came in without waiting for an answer.

"Hey, Mykes," he said, softly, and he walked over to her and took her hand, tugging her gently so she'd follow him. She followed him downstairs dumbly and he led her to his car. He started driving, not speaking, and before she knew it they were in Featherhead, and then outside the hotel. _The_ hotel.

"What are we doing here, Pete?" she asked, completely confused.

"I'm dropping you off, Myka. She's waiting for you," he explained.

"What?"

"Helena is waiting for you. Helena, the woman you're in love with. I'm sorry, Myka, that I didn't figure all this out sooner. Your Dad, Kurt Smoller, all that stuff you told me about how he is with gay people. Your mom, Tracy. I should have figured it out. But I thought I was in love with you, and it would have been so perfect, you know? Like Moonlighting or Castle, or whatever, with the snappy dialogue and the crime-solving. But life's not like that, I guess. You don't love me, and that kinda sucks. What you are doing here, to me, kinda sucks. But I can't say that I don't understand. If I was gay or bi and I had your Dad as my Dad, I might have used you as a beard too. But Mykes, you love HG. And she loves you. It's time to decide, once and for all, okay?"

He was looking at her in that way of his, when he was being totally sincere, and it was heart-breaking to see him so cut up, but so determined. Determined to see her happy. And she'd been using him.

"How?" she asked, and he smiled, but it was a sad smile.

"Artie and Claudia talked to me. Yesterday. Claudia's been talking to HG, and I guess she told her about this – her ultimatum. And she said she didn't think you were going to come. That you were going to hide away and marry me. So Claudia talked to Artie, and they both talked to you. But then you still didn't do anything, so they told me. They said it was for two reasons – first of all, because you were using me, and they didn't think that was okay. And secondly, because you love Helena and she loves you, and that kind of love – a person who would die for you, who _has_ died for you? That doesn't come round more than once, partner."

His face was crumpling, and it was clearly an effort for him to get himself under control. She didn't know what to say. Her deceit had caught up with her, and she had hurt the person she probably loved more than any other. Except maybe Helena. Her heart was still warring within her, and she couldn't decide, even now, when her relationship with Pete was plainly over.

"Look," Pete said, clearly exasperated with her failure to move, to decide, to do or say anything. "I told you, I understand, Myka. It was a shitty thing you did, letting me think you loved me, but I get it. But you need to grow a pair now, partner. Cowboy the fuck up. Get up there and tell her you love her, and start moving on with your life, instead of staying here, lying to yourself and everyone else just to fit in. It's not you, Myka. You're stronger than that. You're my freaking hero, Myka Bering. So go up there and be brave."

She cried. For the first time, she looked at Pete with honest eyes and she saw what she'd done. She saw that he still loved her, even though she'd used him. She saw that he wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn't with him, and she felt shame course through her. Her tears were half for him and half for her own pain. She had always thought of herself as strong, as brave, as good. And up until now, this thing with Helena – she'd been anything but brave. But she could be. She could be strong enough. She didn't feel strong, but she could fake it til she made it. She could be who Pete saw, who Artie saw, instead of this pathetic excuse of a woman she'd been since she realised she was in love with Helena.

"Thanks, Pete," she said, and she leaned across and set a soft kiss to his cheek. "I don't deserve you," she said, and he nodded.

"You're right. And you're gonna make up for it in cookies and other baked goods, believe me. But for now, Mykes, just make this right, okay? We're all rooting for you."

She slipped out of the car silently and made her way to the same room she'd met Helena at last month. She took a deep breath and knocked, and after a few minutes she heard footsteps. The door opened, and Helena stood there staring.

"You came. You actually came?"

"Yeah. I'm here," Myka said shyly, and Helena pulled her into the room by her shirt front, slamming her against the door once she'd closed it, and then they were kissing, hands and mouths moving together and tears falling between them unheeded.

"I love you," Myka managed, in between kisses, and Helena said it too, in between kisses, and they said it so many times that afternoon that Myka lost count after the tenth time. And she lost count of how many times they made love after the fourth time. She woke a lot later in the hotel room that was now swathed in darkness. She got out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb Helena, who looked more peaceful and happy than Myka had ever seen her. She went to the window, where there was a view of a dumpster and an alleyway, but also of the stars and the moon. The moon was almost full and it was bright and beautiful, and she let the light wash over her as she closed her eyes. This was going to cost her, she knew. This relationship, her happiness, being herself – it would most likely come at the cost of her family. But she had been screaming internally this whole time, trying to escape the trap she'd made for herself, and she had been miserable. Maybe the cost of happiness was always this high. But Helena was worth it. This was worth it. Her Warehouse family had always been there for her, and they would stand behind her, behind Helena.

"Myka?" Helena said, sitting up in confusion. "What are you doing? Are you leaving?"

"No, Helena. I just woke up and I was looking at the stars. That's all." She turned to smile at Helena and Helena's face lit up.

"I thought you were going again. But you're not, are you? You're really staying."

"Yeah," Myka said, almost shyly. "I'm here to stay."

"Good. Then order some room service and come back to bed," Helena said, playfully. So Myka did.

* * *

 _"I love you," Helena whispered, searching Myka's eyes. She was so beautiful, her hair dishevelled, her head thrown back, her eyes pools of black. The room was dark but she was lit by a shaft of moonlight. Myka thought she'd never seen anything as lovely. She dipped her head and kissed Helena, trying to let her heart speak through her actions. Because she couldn't say the words. She couldn't be in love with a woman. Not even this woman, a time-travelling HG Wells. She couldn't. Her family would disown her._

 _Helena kissed her back fervently and Myka let go of her thoughts, of her fears, and let herself sink into the moment, the way it all felt. The way Helena_ _felt against her, inside her. She'd thought Helena was gone, the day before, when Pete was going to smash up the Janus coin. She'd been glad, head wound notwithstanding, that Steve and Marcus had found the coin first. And today – they'd won, they'd managed to stop Sykes from destroying the Warehouse. So why couldn't she get the image of Helena in flames out of her head? She swallowed a sob and fell on Helena, their bodies moving together as one organism. She couldn't love Helena – she kept telling herself that - but she was so afraid that she already did. Steve was dead, and every time she thought about his white face and staring eyes, she could just see Helena. Helena dead, Helena gone. The thought spurred her on, and she made love to Helena with an intensity that frightened her. All of her actions said, "I love you," over and over again, and Helena's smile as she looked at Myka, her muscles slack in the afterglow, said that she knew it._

 _When Helena fell asleep in her arms, she cried silently, her face turned away, as she realised how truly screwed she was. She could choose this, the woman in her arms, or she could choose to be 'normal', and keep her family and friends in Colorado happy. There was no in between; she knew that. And she cried her heart out into the darkness as she tried to think of a way to have both._

* * *

A few months after Pete had taken her to the hotel, things had finally settled. Helena had moved into their new room, and Myka and Pete were able to be in the same room again, after a few shouting matches that had ended with them both in tears, then holding each other. Myka's family had, predictably, sent the rest of her belongings back with the letter she sent to them explaining about Helena. There was a note attached that said, "Return to Sender – Myka Bering no longer at this address". That made it pretty clear, Myka thought. She had cried for days, and it was Pete and Helena who'd managed to get her up, out of her sweatpants, and back to work. She missed talking to her Mom. She didn't miss her Dad so much; he'd always been someone she feared more than depended on. And Tracy – well, Tracy had surprised her. A few weeks after the letter had come back, Tracy called Myka to say that she'd only just found out from her parents what had happened, and that she was appalled – at their parents.

"You really thought I would turn on you because you fell in love with a woman?" she asked, her tone hurt.

"I didn't know what to think, Trace. Dad… he told me about Kurt, and he was so… vicious, you know? I didn't know how you would feel, and I was afraid to find out. I almost lost Helena because I was too scared to be with her," Myka admitted.

"I'm just glad you found someone, Myka. You deserve to be happy, sweetie," Tracy said, and a gruff female voice in the background called her, telling her it was time to get back to work.

"Did she just call you Root?" Myka asked, confused.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it, Myka. It's just a nickname. Anyway, I need to get to work. You call me anytime you want to talk, sis. I promise you, I will never judge you. And maybe we could get to talk face to face, sometime soon. I have a few things to tell you too."

Myka felt so much better after that conversation that she couldn't quite put it into words. Helena came through into the library with some tea a few minutes later, to check how Myka was after speaking to her sister, and was pleasantly surprised to see how much better she looked.

The pain of admitting who she was, what she was, who she loved – it had been intense. But it was so much easier than the pain of hiding it all, of suppressing it, of pretending to fit into the narrow box her parents wanted to put her in. She didn't deserve Helena and Pete and the rest of the guys; they'd been too patient with her. But she was endlessly grateful for that patience. Helena had let Myka hurt her; had let Myka pretend to be indifferent. Of all the people in the world, Helena was for her, and she was for Helena. Her parents might get used to it or they might not. She found that she didn't much care, either way. Because if they didn't come round, they didn't love her the way she deserved to be loved. Love shouldn't come with conditions; no-one should have to conform to a standard that they didn't fit just to suit their mother or father or anyone else. She was Myka Bering, and she was in love with Helena Wells, and they could damn well take it and shove it if they had a problem. She was done hurting the people who really loved her to satisfy those who didn't.

"I love you," Helena murmured, without looking up from her book. Myka put her own book down and lay stretched out on the couch, her head in Helena's lap. Helena dropped one hand to her head, playing with her hair gently.

"I love you, too," Myka said, and with those words, she let go of all of the expectations she'd held on to her whole life, the husband and 2.4 kids, settling down to be a full-time mom. She didn't need or want those expectations. Her life would be what it would be. If she wanted kids with Helena, she would have them, and screw her parents if they didn't ever get to know their grandchildren. The kid or kids would have family to spare, here at the Warehouse. Her life was just beginning, and as she lay with Helena's hand gently pulling through her hair, she felt like she could breathe for the first time in her life.


End file.
